


Zatanna Has Showmanship

by Djinn_n_Tonic



Series: Gotham Taboo [6]
Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Zatanna (Comics)
Genre: Acting, Big Bang Challenge, F/M, Fishnets, Hand Jobs, Magic, Public Hand Jobs, Thighs, Tit job, thigh job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 16:06:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20708786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djinn_n_Tonic/pseuds/Djinn_n_Tonic
Summary: Zatanna puts on a secret, sexy, show full of magic and naughtiness. Things don't go entirely as planned.





	Zatanna Has Showmanship

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I swear I was trying to write a short chapter. It was going to be straight to the point and smutty. As it went on, it kind of...led in another direction. I'm sorry! However, at least all the relationship, dialogue, stuff is at the end of the chapter. So if you're here for the smut, it's right there at the top. Enjoy!

Zatanna Zatara lived two lives, though both under the name of Zatanna. One was the showbiz life – performing magic shows for crowds of adoring fans. All the magic she did on stage were purely illusions, no actual sorcery needed. She enjoyed the spotlight, and if nothing else it paid the bills. Her other life was that of a superhero – using actual sorcery to combat legions of villainous fiends (both magical and nonmagical alike). She had something of a spotlight there as well, but it was often shared with other heroes, and her exploits often dealt with things that went bump in the night. Not a lot of press coverage there. Regardless, that life help to scratch her adventurous itch and gave her life a more meaningful purpose. However, there was another life. A secret life, known only to close, open-minded, friends and those who were willing to pay far more than the usual ticket price.

As always, it was a sold-out show. The venue was small; intimately so. Given that so few could afford the cover charge, it made sense. Given the promised content, some would likely be uncomfortable with the limited space. They would deal. Once the show began, their minds would be too focused on the show to care about anyone else in the room. Anyone but her.

The lights dimmed further, bringing the casual conversations to a murmur, and then silence. The room was pitch black. No cellphones allowed, so no bright blue screens suddenly appearing. They heard her, before they saw her.

_Click, clack, click, clack_. The sound of high heels falling upon the stage. They stopped. Again, there was silence. Still, there was darkness. Without warning, a beam of light cut through the darkness. The spotlight was a direct hit, illuminating Zatanna and nothing but. The crowd clapped, as one does when greeted with a celebrity in their natural environment.

Zatanna’s outfit, both on stage and in the field, was one befitting a magician – especially one with an appealing form such as hers. It changed over the years, but certain elements remained the same. Top hat, bowtie, white blouse (sometimes buttoned up, sometimes not all the way), twin-tailed black jacket, a showy pair of black shorts, and of course the fishnets she was so well known for.

However, for her secret, after hours, show, she made a few alterations. It was still like her well known costume. It would be a disservice to herself and her fans to wear anything less. But there were differences. Her top hat remained, as did the bow tie; both black. She still wore her white blouse, buttoned all the way up much to the dismay of her audience. Patience is a virtue. A gold girdle wrapped around her waist. Her midsection needed no help being pinched in and slender. The garment was only worn to act as a contrast to the white of her blouse. It was there to help draw the eye to, and emphasize, the impressive bust underneath her blouse, while also lifting her breasts slightly.

She still wore her black shorts, though they weren’t really shorts. They were closer to panties in how much they covered. Thong panties, the audience would learn later. The fishnets, of course, were on display. She wouldn’t dare be caught on stage without them. Rounding out the outfit was a pair of black, stiletto, boots that ran just a few inches above her knees. Finally, a pair of white gloves. Simple.

Zatanna swung her arms out dramatically, and the lights that lined the stage came up, illuminating the stage and red curtain.

“I am so glad you all could make it to this _very_ special, _very_ exclusive, and _very_ expensive show.” Zatanna began, her voice easily carrying throughout the audience. The crowd chuckled, knowing full well just how much of their fortunes they had to put on the table to get in. They knew it would be worth it, though. _It better_ _be_, some thought. “I apologize for the late hour, but I’m sure my act won’t put any of you to sleep,” she joked with a wink, eliciting more chuckles from the small crowd. “Let’s begin with a simple trick!”

Sapphire eyes scanned around the stage, in front and behind her. She couldn’t find them. White gloved hands patted herself down, feeling for something. She couldn’t find them. While her apparent nervousness set in, the audience at least got to enjoy Zatanna feeling herself up. Cupping her breasts, slapping her tush. Minor, quick, things but all intended to elicit the response Zatanna was getting. Her eyes went wide with her smile as she seemed to remember where she needed to look.

Hands went to her bowtie and easily untied and pulled it loose. The few repeat audience members knew what was coming next. Everyone else had to guess. They’d all be right. One by one Zatanna undid the white buttons of her blouse. Perhaps a little slower than one would normally if they were undressing, but Zatanna wanted to build up that anticipation. Since the blouse had been buttoned up to her neck, there was a lot of anticipation that would be built.

Little by little more of her pink flesh was revealed to the audience. The nape of her neck, her collarbone, the short expanse of her chest before the first slopes of her breasts were seen. That’s when people really started to pay attention. Then came the first shadow of her cleavage. The darkened space between her snugly held breasts. Softly her fingertips grazed along her breasts, teasing the possibility of dipping her fingers between them.

Eventually, she had unbuttoned all she needed to. Although, it wasn’t all she wanted to. Gripping the parted edges of her blouse, she violently pulled them further apart. A lot more of her tits were exposed. However, not enough to earn her an R rating. That would come later. Her nipples remain covered, but just barely. The audience gave another cheer with the exposed window of skin she’d given them.

“Don’t cheer yet, I haven’t done the trick,” Zatanna scolded, acting for the act. Decidedly her fingers dipped down between her breasts. Not a soul in the audience didn’t wish it was their hand. She went deeper. And deeper. And deeper still. Her fingers had long since disappeared, and so did the rest of her hand. She was going well beyond what her outfit would seem to allow. That’s magic for you. Her well groomed eyebrows jumped, and then she started pulling her hand back out.

Clutched in her hand was…a deck of cards. After opening the box, she revealed the contents were…a deck of cards. Many in the audience were expecting something racier. They had just seen Zatanna delve into her own cleavage, so they couldn’t complain. They did feel like complaining when Zatanna started setting up some rather basic card tricks.

The murmurs in the audience began to turn into grumbles, which turned into demands for her to “take it all off” and “get on with it.” Amidst the complaints, Zatanna ‘messed up’ one of her tricks. Her hands fumbled with the cards and then went spilling out onto the floor.

“Oh, shoot!” she cutely cursed. “J-Just one moment, folks! Just a minor technical difficulty is all!” After reassuring the audience the woefully unexpected show would continue, Zatanna got to picking up the cards. By getting onto her hands and knees and crawling around the stage. Now the audience was starting to catch on.

While Zatanna collected the cards, one by one, to ‘continue her act,’ the audience was treated to another show. As she worked, Zatanna was showing off her pendulous breasts and her squeezable ass. Though Zatanna’s breasts were impressive and her cleavage inviting, her backside was the true star – along with her legs. One had to have a truly remarkable ass to draw the eyes away from her full chest.

When Zatanna turned, the audience saw that her jacket didn’t have the usual twin-tails that would have tried to cover up her plump peach. They were then privy to her succulent booty in all its curvaceous glory. Her black thong disappeared easily between her pale globes. The fabric beautifully cupped the slight bulge of her labia. Seeing _the_ Zatanna on her hands and knees would have been a sight in of itself; but seeing most of her tits and ass was even better.

With the cards collected, Zatanna stood back up, throwing her raven hair back over her shoulders so she could continue.

“Sorry about that, folks! Let’s continue, shall we? I have a _lot_ of card tricks to get through.” Zatanna blinked hard at the crowd’s vocal reaction. “Not fans of card tricks, huh? Well alright…” The magician paused, thinking what to do next, although obviously knowing exactly what to do next, while she stuffed the deck back between her breasts. “…Oh! How about some hat tricks?”

It didn’t sound like what the audience wanted, but they went along with it, hoping it would turn into something naughty. It would. Zatanna gave the brim of her hat a flick and let it roll down her arm before catching it with her skilled hand. After a spin of the hat on her fingertip, Zatanna held the brim with two hands. The hat was turned toward the audience, hole side, to show them that it was empty. In order to keep their attention on the hat, and not her breasts, she held the hat between her thighs as she showed off the emptiness.

“Nothing in my hat,” she confirmed, “and nothing down my blouse,” she added, giving herself a little hop to make her chest bounce in turn, as if to prove there was nothing to shake loose. Of course, the cards were supposed to be down there, but the mechanics of how the space worked in her blouse seemed entirely magical, so no one questioned it.

As she had done with her cleavage, Zatanna eased her hand into the hat. Also like before, her arm was going deeper and deeper. Far deeper than the hat should allow. Having found her prize, Zatanna started to pull her hand back. Further and further back she pulled until, suddenly, she stopped. Rather unexpectedly, judging by Zatanna’s reaction. Her hand was still in the hat, holding something, though no one in the audience could see. That’s when someone in the audience began to yelp.

Zatanna gave another tug. And another. It wasn’t coming out. The yelping man continued to react and verbalize his confusion. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he was sure it was quite pleasurable. The unexpectedness, and inability to make sense of it, was what was throwing him. Every time Zatanna pulled, the man’s hips leaped up.

“Oh, I see the problem,” Zatanna said. “My volunteer looks a bit _stiff_. That can happen with volunteers coming on stage. Don’t worry, I can help relax him,” she promised with a wink. While still holding the hat’s brim with one hand, Zatanna lifted her other hand and started to remove the glove with her biting teeth. Zatanna tossed the glove into the audience. An innocent souvenir, but one she was certain the lucky recipient would _enjoy_ quite often.

To combat the bout of ‘stage fright,’ Zatanna worked on ‘relaxing’ the ‘stiff’ ‘volunteer.’ There’s plenty of innuendos in her act, so just go with it. Though no one in the audience could see what was happening inside the hat, and only one member could _feel_ what was happening, they all were confident in what they guessed. They were right. As a true magician, though, Zatanna only showed what needed to be shown.

As much as the volunteer would have liked the moment to last longer, there was no denying that Zatanna had the ‘magic touch.’ The agile and nimble, and above all skilled, fingers of a magician. To keep her volunteer from doing its impression of a geyser, Zatanna kept her palm over the point of expulsion. She also didn’t want to risk any of it getting into her curtain of perfectly kept ebony hair. The volunteer would have to deal with some wetness, but it was a small price to pay to feel the magical touch of Zatanna. Plus, it meant she didn’t have to warn the front row of being a ‘splash zone.’

Zatanna’s blood red lips formed an O in ‘surprise.’ While holding her hat under her bosom with her forearm, she cleaned off her hand with a red handkerchief. She saw no need to toss _that_ into the audience. Once cleaned, Zatanna took another look into the hat.

“Seems his case of stage fright is more serious than I thought,” she said with faux grimness. “He’s shrunken down in the face of fame!” The audience shared in a good laugh; even her volunteer did, once he caught his breath. “On the plus side: six more weeks of winter!” Just as the laughter had died down from the first joke, it swelled back up with the second.

“Now, I’m still in need of a volunteer. So, let’s see who the next lucky chap shall be.” Once again, Zatanna reached into the magical hat, fishing around for her next ‘volunteer.’ Her first had already been ‘sent back to his seat,’ so to speak, so the hat would be open for the next. She wouldn’t waste any more time with the bottomless hat routine, so moments after she reached in, she made it clear she’d found what she was looking for.

“Speaking of ‘six more weeks of winter,’ my volunteer looks positively frigid. He’s frozen stiff!” Sure, it was the same joke as last time, but she saw no need to write up a bunch of fresh jokes for a crowd that wasn’t there to hear her jokes. The crowd would agree, but gave an appreciative chuckle, nonetheless. “How about I warm him up then?”

Zatanna grabbed her hat with both hands and placed it on her chest. Her back arched, her breasts were thrust forward. Given their already impressive size, it made for a balcony one could do Shakespeare on. No one was there to see Shakespeare, of course. The magician held the hat against her cleavage with both hands on the lid.

“Now, the way I like to get warm is to snuggle up with some blankets and pillows and drink some nice hot cocoa. Sadly, I don’t have any blankets or cocoa,” Zatanna unnecessarily revealed with a pout. “But I do have _pillows. _I hope my volunteer doesn’t mind,” she said of the lack of blankets and cocoa. He wouldn’t. There wasn’t a man in the audience who wouldn’t. There wasn’t a heterosexual man alive that wouldn’t.

Like last time, her ‘volunteer’ was obscured from view thanks to the hat’s depth and the volunteer’s…let’s say average endowment. Therefore, in order to get her ‘volunteer’ nice and snug between her pillows, she had to press down on the hat – forcing its contents down between her breasts. The hat crumbled down like an accordion. It was an action that would likely ruin any ordinary top hat. As one could safely guess, that was no ordinary top hat. When she relaxed the pressure she put on it, the hat reformed its original shape.

Back down the top hat was pushed and back up it reformed. It looked as if it had a spring inside to pop it back into firm form once the offending pressure was removed. Up and down, up and down. Her ‘volunteer’ was plunged down between her warm and squeezing breasts, only to slide back up moments later. Of course, it would have made sense for her to just keep the contents pressed into her cleavage and wait for them to warm up. But where’s the fun in that?

Just as that ‘volunteer’ had come down with a case of ‘stiffness,’ it also ended its time on stage in the same manner. Zatanna’s brows arched up, and her eyes cast downward as she felt a sensation the others couldn’t see.

“Well, I know I didn’t have any hot cocoa, but my volunteer was more than happy to give me another warm and creamy liquid.” The laughter was born from the amusement of the joke and the excitement that Zatanna had made yet another audience member very happy. The envy the rest experienced had no bearing on the laughing.

Zatanna removed the hat from her chest. Without another hanky to use, she pulled off her glove in the same manner as last time and gave her girls a few firm dabs. The glove tossed over her shoulder, Zatanna looked inside the hat – as if she had no idea what she could expect to find.

“It looks like my warming technique work too well, folks. My volunteer got so cozy and warm between my pillows that he zonked right now.” Zatanna smirked and shrugged. “Happens to the best of us, right, fellas?” More laughter; more nervous than last time. “That’s two volunteers down, now.” Zatanna tapped her finger against her chin as she thought. “It’s starting to look like I’ll never get a volunteer up here. Maybe I should just end the show early,” she said with exaggerated disappointment and defeat.

The audience wasn’t going to have that. They knew it was part of the act, but who could take the risk that it wasn’t? Plus, they could tell the reaction she was trying to get from them. Not interested in disappointing her, they gave her what she wanted and cheered for her to keep going. Even the two previous volunteers, who knew they wouldn’t be selected again, joined in on the applause.

“Wow, you boys sure do like magic.” Her expression became much warmer and happier. “Well, it’s like they say: the show must go on!” After a flourish with her hat, Zatanna reached her bare hand into the hat. Where else would she get her volunteers? A new reaction came over Zatanna’s face when she wrapped her digits around her third volunteer. She licked her lips and gulped, moving her hand in a way that no one could see, known only to her and her volunteer.

“Um…the wand…and thighs…” Zatanna stared down into the hat, seeing for her own eyes what she had grabbed. Her words had stumbled out incorrectly and at the wrong time. The crowd was still with her, assuming it was all part of her act, but there was a sincerity to her shock. It wasn’t exaggerated for effect like her other reactions. There was something in that hat she wasn’t expecting, though she did not seem utterly displeased by it.

After another gulp, Zatanna composed herself. “Sorry, I seem to have accidentally made my composure disappear.” A joke to warm the audience back up and get them back on her side. “With any great magician, they must have a wand. My volunteer has been so kind as to offer me his,” she explained, still slightly flustered. Her hand squeezed around the supposed wand. Never had an audience member offered up such a substantial ‘wand.’ It was closer to a staff than a wand. But the show must go on.

“I’m not sure how magical it is. Wouldn’t want something to go wrong, would we?” Zatanna winked. “I think I have the solution, though. I can give this wand a little magic myself.” The hat was lowered down, resting in front of her crotch. “As you may know, my thighs are magical. At least that’s what the press and Internet keep saying.” The audience agreed with laughter. “Hopefully, a little bit of that magic can rub off on my volunteer’s wand.”

Zatanna repositioned herself and the hat. Her back was now facing the audience. All eyes were on her derriere, covered in a hatch pattern of fishnet and with a strip of black fabric running from the top to the bottom, disappearing between her cheeks in the middle. Just below it she held the hat. Her cheeks poured over the brim, emphasizing their softness. The lid faced the audience, again denying them sight into what was inside – though they all knew. Zatanna held one hand against the lid and the other remained idle. For now.

Gently she pushed on the hat as she had before, forcing out the ‘wand.’ Slowly but surely it pushed through between her thighs, using her thigh gap as an opening. Zatanna shivered at the thickness of it.

She gasped as it seemed never ending despite how much she pushed through. Unseen by the audience, she gently bit on her finger to keep from making too many lewd noises. The show was already lewd, but part of the act was her ignorance of it. Always the professional, even amidst surprises.

Her hand relaxed on the hat and let the ‘wand’ slide back. Zatanna got to enjoy feeling the girthy wand rub up against her thighs and against her taint. Just as with the second volunteer, Zatanna repeated the movement over and over, until the volunteer, or she, was satisfied. In an unprecedent occurrence, it was the latter. No doubt thanks to that idle hand finding purpose in rubbing her dampening crotch.

Although, it is somewhat untrue to say Zatanna was ‘satisfied.’ The shuddering moan she let out, barely muffled by her clasping hand, and the visible shiver and twitch of her body, certainly conveyed a kind of satisfaction. The ideal length and girth of the ‘wand,’ rubbing against her thighs, teasing against her covered pussy and dragging its head from it to her ass, all helped turned Zatanna’s pre-existing wetness into a full-blown climax. But Zatanna wasn’t ready for the show to reach its climax.

Having either forgotten about, or was ambivalent to, the audience, Zatanna set down the hat and tugged down her black satin thong. The audience gasped, but Zatanna didn’t care. She wouldn’t care when they gasped and murmured when she then ripped a hole in her fishnets, so she certainly didn’t care about removing her thong and exposing her ass. Those in the front row could see her drip.

With the hat sitting on the stage, hole up, Zatanna stood over it. Legs akimbo, Zatanna made one final shuddering breath and squatted. It was difficult to maintain her balance, with her stiletto boots, but she was determined. When Zatanna sat, she let out a barely audible whimper. After making some adjustments to ensure the ‘wand’ was aimed correctly, Zatanna lowered herself further. Once the tip of the ‘wand’ was in, she had to take another pause and compose herself.

Seeing the discomfort and impracticality of her position, Zatanna readjusted. Kneeling on the floor, she was far better equipped to lower herself further and further. Inch by inch she squeezed the ‘wand’ into her. With every inch, the audience saw her cheeks clench, as if she was having to force herself down around it. It was a snug fit, to be sure. When she had taken all she could, unsure if there was even more, she rose back up.

The hat, of course, came with her, continuously obscuring what everyone knew was there. There was no pretense, no assumptions, no gags anymore. Zatanna was fucking herself on someone’s cock that was hidden in the hat. She knew it, the audience knew it, and the volunteer definitely knew it. The longer the performance went on, the faster she moved up, and the harder she sat back down. As the audience had long fallen into a captivated silence, they could begin to hear the wet sounds of her soaked pussy taking in and sliding off the magical dick. Someone in the audience was getting fucked by Zatanna. In a way none of them could have imagined. And no one knew who it could be. No one was willing to look away from the stage to scan the audience for someone obviously in the hot, wet, grip of passion.

Unable to deal with the heat of her body and the stage lights, Zatanna ripped off her black coat and tossed it aside. Though the audience was not privy to seeing the fruits of her labor, they certainly knew she had pulled her shirt further open in a sudden, passionate, action. Her moans had become louder, more explicit. One could even assume she was acting as if she were alone, save for her phantom lover. Were she still doing her act, Zatanna might let the men see herself squeezing her tits together and pinching her dark nipples. But she wasn’t doing her act. She wasn’t even aware she was on stage anymore. She had become overwhelmed by the full feeling she got from impaling herself on her volunteer, and the misery that came from letting him slip away. Zatanna was always quick to fill herself back up, though.

Though she had bit her lower lip to stifle her final moan, it proved too powerful. Her mouth parted wide as she let out an orgasmic cry that filled the theater. She remained, sitting on the squashed hat, feeling full, for several moments. As her high receded, her perception returned. Zatanna remembered where she was. More importantly, she remembered who was watching her.

As best she could, Zatanna slipped herself off the ‘wand’ and stood. She couldn’t see where she had tossed her panties and putting on her jacket would take too much time. All she could do was struggle to pull her shirt closed with one hand and cover her crotch with the hat held in the other. Zatanna had no witty remark or grand flourish to end the show on. The audience was perfectly satisfied with her arousing moan as her remark, and her clearly grand orgasm as her flourish. All she had to do with force out a shy smile and the audience erupted into applause and cheering.

No one could really say if that was all part of the act or not. No one except for Zatanna herself. Even the ones who had seen the show before could easily assume she had just decided to freshen up the performance. None thought it needed it. All thought it was a good change, nonetheless.

“Lights!” Zatanna cried out, summoning the stagehand to take his stage hand off his dick and turn off the lights that illuminated her embarrassment. The last thing anyone saw was Zatanna dripping her, and her volunteer’s, ‘grand finish’ onto the stage.

**[LATER THAT SAME NIGHT, ACROSS TOWN…]**

Zatanna knocked on the door. She knew who lived there, but she hadn’t expected her path to lead her to the apartment in the first place. She adjusted her stance to be firm, and defiant, despite what had just happened. Despite wearing torn fishnets and an unbuttoned blouse. It didn’t take long for the occupant to answer the door. Clearly, she was expected.

“My goodness, Zee, you look dreadfully beautiful tonight,” greeted the British voice, made deep and gravely from years of whiskey and cigarettes.

“Hello, John,” Zatanna greeted. “May I come in?”

“Absolutely,” John Constantine allowed, moving aside to let her into his humble abode.

The conversation would not resume until both were in his shabby, but intriguingly decorated, living room. Ancient artifacts and grim trophies found, acquired, and stolen throughout his supernatural career. There was not a one that Zatanna did not recognize, though there were a few she felt concerned were in his possession. A conversation for a later date, she decided.

“Can I get you something to drink?” John asked. “You look in need of one.” Not waiting for an answer, John set to pouring two glasses half full of cheap, but effective, liquor. Zatanna said nothing as she accepted the drink, as John expected as much.

John sat across from her on the sofa opposite of the armchair Zatanna sat in. He expected as much. Whenever she visited, she sat there because if she sat on the sofa, he’d cozy on up to her. Zatanna didn’t take a sip until after John did, as if he had done something to the drinks. She was clearly in a mood, and John was certain she’d tell him why.

Zatanna looked over at John, wearing his tan trench coat in doors. The rest of his clothes were pedestrian and unassuming. Totally misleading to the kind of man John was. He preferred to go unseen, considering the kind of villains he dealt with, but his personality was louder than most. One only need to ask.

“So, Zee, what brings you to a place like this, at an hour like this, to drink whisky with a man like me?” John moved his hand through his unkempt, dirty blonde hair.

“Well, John,” Zatanna began, her tone already clearly set to something firm and accusatory. Something John was used to. “I just came back from a show.”

“Bully for you.” John set the whiskey down for a moment so he could light a cigarette. Something to enjoy between sips.

“It was a private show. Open only to the very rich, and close personal friends,” she went on to explain.

“Oh?” John reacted mid sip. “Why have I never heard of it? I’m not very rich, except in character, but am I not a close personal friend?”

“No,” she flatly replied. “Not close enough, at least.”

“That can easily be fixed,” John offered, patting the open seat next to him. Zatanna didn’t budge, nor did he expect her to. “So, what kind of show was this?” he asked. “Other than a private one for the rich and friendly.”

“You know exactly what kind of show it was,” Zatanna accused.

“And how would I know that, Zee?” John’s smirk was poorly hidden behind his glass, which he held with the same hand as the cigarette.

“Because you were there, John.”

“Was I?”

“Yes,” Zatanna reaffirmed. “What’s more – you fucked me.” John’s minor reaction helped her to confirm her suspicions.

“Clearly I need to earn some more cash or go to more brunches with you, because it sounds like a fabulous show,” John said, “that I did not attend.”

“Yes, you did. You snuck in,” Zatanna said, making another accusation.

“Why would I do that?” John knew the answer, but he loved to push Zatanna’s buttons, and he could tell she was getting more heated with every accusation and every defense.

“I don’t know,” Zatanna admitted. “To screw with me?”

“To screw with you?” John repeated. “To screw with you _and _to screw you? Seems a bit redundant, don’t you think.”

“Like drinking and smoking at the same time?” Zatanna shot back.

“They scratch different itches,” he explained.

“So would pranking and fucking me,” she proclaimed.

John rubbed his stubbled chin as he thought. “If what you say is true, that I screwed _with _you _and_ screwed you – does that count as a double penetration?” John joked.

“Cut the crap, John,” Zatanna sighed, the day having been too long to continue the banter that she usually enjoyed. “I know it was you. Just admit it.”

He was confident that if he admitted to anything, he’d face some consequences. John wasn’t a fan of consequences. So, he never showed any of his cards unless there was no alternative. As far as he could tell, there was at least one left.

“I’m not going to admit to anything,” John refused, “unless you can tell me how you _know_ it was me.”

Zatanna smirked. She was hoping he’d ask for proof.

“After the show, as the audience was leaving, I cast a spell,” Zatanna began to explain. As she did, her arms crossed on her revealed cleavage and her legs re-crossed, challenging his eyes to look up or down on her body. “A spell that was meant to mark the person who I ended the show with.”

“And you’re saying that spell marked me?”

“No,” she admitted, raising a smile on John’s face. She couldn’t want to wipe it off. “In fact, it didn’t mark anyone.”

“I guess the spell failed,” John theorized.

“My spells don’t fail.” Zatanna would have to recant after seeing John’s eyebrow twitch. She knew he’d have plenty of examples to throw in her face. “Not a simple one like that, anyway.” The eyebrow was settled back down. “That spell didn’t fail, but it was deflected. The person it wanted to target was warded against magic.”

“And you think that _I _was using said ward?” John tapped some ash into the ash tray on the table. Leaning forward allowed him to sneak another peek at her famous legs. “A magical ward certainly does narrow your search, but you and I both know that magical wards aren’t hard to come by. Even cheap ones would deflect your spell – if it’s as simple as you say.”

He wasn’t wrong. In fact, she had the exact same thought. That’s why she had to try another method. One she was happy to divulge.

“That’s why I used another spell,” Zatanna revealed. “One that wouldn’t target the individual directly. A spell that would show me his path, wherever he went. His ward may guard him within a certain radius, but as long as he kept moving, the path he’d walked would be outside the protection. So, I followed it.”

“And it led you here?” John jumped in, making the assumption he assumed she’d make.

“It led me to this neighborhood. A neighborhood I knew you lived in,” Zatanna revealed.

“But not to me?”

“Not directly, no.”

“So, how do you know it was me? Plenty of shady folk live ‘round here.”

“I don’t know,” Zatanna admitted, “not yet. There’s one more clue left to find.” Zatanna tossed back the rest of the whiskey, then began her approach. John’s eyes widened as she did. Things weren’t going exactly as he envisioned it, but rather how he fantasized it would. So much so that he assumed she was screwing with him. His guard remained up. Somewhat.

“The volunteer…” Zatanna began as she stood directly in front of John. Before she continued, Zatanna leaned forward, drawing John’s eyes toward her cleavage, and keeping his attention off her hands. A magician is a master of misdirection. Suddenly, John felt her firm grip against his cock, resting inside his pants, against his thigh. “…had a big, thick, _cock_.” Her lips moved deliberately and sensually. John had to assume something was up, but he didn’t want to. He wanted it to be real. Then Zatanna squeezed. Hard.

“Hey, hey, hey!” John rambled. “Stop! Okay, it was me.” Zatanna eased her grip and stood upright. “Poor form, hitting below the belt. Literally.” John looked up at her, who was staring down at him with those blue eyes he found to be quite magical. “So, what? What’s my punishment?”

“Why would I punish you?” Zatanna surprised him again by taking a seat on the couch. Or rather, a seat on him. Her fishnet covered legs spread and allowed her to straddle his lap. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t?” John was used to doing wrong. Law of averages says he must do something right, even accidentally, at some point, though.

“No,” she reassured. “It’s the nature of the show that my volunteers are randomly selected. And though you aren’t a close friend, except in _this_ instant,” she smirked, referring to how intimately she sat on him, “the show is open to strangers too. Assuming they have the money.” Zatanna looked around his room. “The stuff here is easily worth a ticket or two.” Tired of him just sitting there, Zatanna grabbed his wrists and planted his hands on her hips.

John gulped. He wasn’t used to being put into a corner like this, but at least he could say he was happy it was her that put him there.

“I am curious, though,” Zatanna brought up. “How did you make sure you were selected?”

“I didn’t,” John revealed, surprising Zatanna. “It was just luck.” Zatanna didn’t look satisfied, and he’d seen her satisfied. “Honestly, I’ve been to all your private shows. I went the first time just to see what you were up to. After seeing that, I had to come to more. Each time, I just hoped I’d get picked. Tonight was just the lucky night,” John understated.

“Lucky night indeed,” Zatanna agreed, rubbing her hands gently on his shoulders, underneath his coat.

“So…what comes next?” John asked.

“Next is you come with me on tour,” Zatanna planned. “There is no way I can continue my shows without having this wonderful _dick_ waiting for me between performances.” Zatanna’s need was emphasized with a grind to his lap. “And if, at some point, you’re needed to fight demons or beasties, I can teleport you there and back again.”

John couldn’t find any fault in that plan. It was so perfect he would have thought he wrote it himself. It was the perfection of the situation that made him suspicious. Something felt off, despite how good it felt.

“Can I ask you something, Zee?” John asked with sincere concern.

“I’d rather you put that mouth to better use,” Zatanna answered, thrusting out her chest, “but go ahead. Shoot.”

“During your show, what you did…why did you do it?”

“What do you mean?” Zatanna paused her sexual movements.

“I’ve been to all of your shows, and what happened tonight definitely wasn’t on the itinerary. So, what was so different tonight?” It was true. Zatanna never ended her shows in that fashion. All John expected to see, and hopefully participate in, were the hand job, tit job, thigh job, and finally the blow job.

“Why, your cock, of course,” Zatanna was pleased to compliment. “Most of my patrons don’t have anything of significance. But this cock? This cock was made for me, I can tell.”

“You’re…acting kind of strange, Zee,” John had no choice but to admit. “Don’t get me wrong, I like it. But it’s not very…you. Did you do something to yourself?”

“Besides bounce on your cock? Probably the spell I use before every show.”

“What spell?” John asked with equal parts intrigue and concern.

“An inhibition lowering spell. Doing the private shows can be very intense and nerve wracking. Even though I can’t see the audience, thanks to the lighting, I still know they’re there. So, I use a spell that weakens those inhibitions holding me back,” Zatanna explained. The look on John’s face forced her to reassure him. “It doesn’t do anything drastic to me. It’s the equivalent of having a few beers, but without feeling tipsy.” Zatanna shrugged off any seriousness John put on the situation.

However, John wasn’t all that reassured. His head fell back as he took a deep breath. He knew what he had to do. He didn’t want to, at least his crotch didn’t want him to, but he knew he had to. If he didn’t, the whole situation could go from great to terrible.

“Look, Zee, your offer? Deal of a lifetime. I’d be a fool not to take it.” Despite Zatanna’s aroused smile and resumed slow grinding, John had to continue. “But…” John wasn’t sure how to phrase it, so he opted out of saying it at all. “…You know? Why don’t you rest here tonight? It’s late, your outfit is in shambles, and I’m sure you’re tired. Then, in the morning, after come coffee, we can revisit your offer.”

“You’re serious?” Zatanna said in disbelief.

“I wish I wasn’t, but I am.”

Zatanna couldn’t help but smile. She knew what he was doing, and she appreciated it. The spell didn’t make her do anything she didn’t want to, but it did make her more willing than she’d usually be. Like she said, it was like having several beers. She understood his position.

“Alright,” she agreed. “But I’m getting the bed. You can have the couch.”

“Deal, Zee.” John’s smile was warm and reassuring.

The next morning, the two had some coffee and discussed things. John was sad to hear the ‘personal fuck toy for her global tour’ offer was off the table. They both agreed, though, that it’d be a tad impractical for both of them. However, Zatanna was sure of one thing. She really wanted that dick of his. Her personality was nice too, though she’d never admit that. His head was big enough as it was.

So, whenever they both had the time, they’d find a way to meet up and shag enough to make up for the time apart. There was a lot of repressed feelings to get out into the open. The best way was to fuck them free. They even went on a few dates. Cute. The dates also ended in hot, sweaty, sex.

Zatanna stopped doing her private shows. Not due to John’s request. In fact, he was hoping to get a lifetime ticket to them. Zatanna just decided the only cock she wanted to handle was his. She did have another idea for the private shows, though. One that would involve John coming on stage with her, then coming in her on stage. Failing that, she could always do some burlesque; maybe involve some of her friends like Dinah. She really wanted to involve John, though. She was just so eager to show everyone the cock that was made for her. And the man that was made for her, too.


End file.
